


Hard Determism

by Dragunov



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, mutant AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:56:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragunov/pseuds/Dragunov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Just a drabble from my blog that I found and liked.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Hard Determism

**Author's Note:**

> Just a drabble from my blog that I found and liked.

Sebastian constructs for him these little metal universes

because he likes that, whole rooms full of them, and then he likes to watch them melt.

He is.

He is the only mutant who can kill Mycroft Holmes and he is the only mutant who could care less if Mycroft Holmes lives, or dies. A symptom of his sickness, perhaps. A symptom of philosophy, and the way his world is infinite but also meaningless; and a man can be great and a star can be big and an explosion so powerful it kills all life but in the end it is worthless, worth being a joke.

He is infinite jest. 

But he likes suits with a high thread count and fine champagne and little metal universes.

He is physical hard determinism.

“The Atomic Man!” He says, one morning, wearing thin trousers that could be pajamas prison slacks surgeon’s scrubs and he takes the floating metal bowl of Lucky Charms from out of the air with delicate fingers. “That’s what I would be called if life were like those comic strips with all the little dots and tight spandex and kinky masks.”

“And I’d be what? Metal Man?”

“Mm.”

And he chews thoughtfully with the silver spoon that Sebastian can feel against his tongue, and the metal chair that brushes his bare back, and the mostly metal of their apartment that vibrates with touches of them, violent and funny screaming not funny ha ha and little sighs of pleasure sadness lost, and the world outside that is still theirs, and metal and thrumming with the expectation of love and being robbed, and the silver spoon against his tongue.

The way he smiles when Sebastian asks, “So, we the heroes or villains, then?”

“Silly.” He says.

Mycroft Holmes can not read his mind because his mind is the ether, dark matter, nothingness, his mind is every word for what we do not yet know and can not yet comprehend and the first time Mycroft Holmes tries to read his mind he falls into a coma for six months and a plane flies into a metal building and the world goes to war and Jim laughs, says, that wasn’t because of Mycroft Holmes, baby, well, no, that wasn’t because of his coma. That was long coming.

And long going away.

He can see what actions atoms will take, he says. All atoms. He can see everything. He lives in a world of little dots where there are no heroes and there are no villains and there are no surprises, the atomic man, and at night he curls behind the metal man, humming pop songs that will come out years from now, caressing old white scars he knows about without asking.

Mycroft Holmes can read Sebastian’s mind like a pop up story and tries to turn Sebastian against Jim, tries to kill him with Sebastian, through Sebastian, in Sebastian, but Jim is infinite steps ahead, a factory full of chess pieces unmade, and Sebastian misses.

Sebastisn feels old, old and vaguely guilty, and rusted to his core, if this is a joke it is a bad one, so Jim murders Sherlock as he knew he always would, Sherlock and not Mycroft Holmes, who lives.

“In Afghanistan,” Sebastian says, “I could’ve saved my men. Bullets are metal. I could’ve stopped the bullets and saved my men but I didn’t. I let most of them die. I don’t know.

“Cause that’s war.

“The way it is.”


End file.
